Indian Man
by time-will-give-us-nothing
Summary: Edward and Emmett are at a bar when they witness a fight between a half-indian and three stupid bullies. They intervene and help, but is the lasting impression the best? *Jacob is the, ya know, indian man lol* Complete...unless you don't want it to be.


**Indian Man**

I looked at Emmett and grinned wide as the both of us walked into a club bathroom. Emmett and I had just gotten the girls off us—we'd had to practically shove and run to get away from all of them so quickly that they couldn't be able to find us. There was a line waiting outside the mens(and women) restrooms, but we knew most of them and they let us pass.

"_Gawd _I have to piss so bad," I mumbled to myself as I calmly walked to the urinals, mastering my need to release some bodily fluids. Emmett was the same. He wouldn't be caught dead running and pushing into people just to piss.

It turned the ladies off.

But then, I stopped short. I realized that we were not even seven feet away from a fight that was beginning to erupt in the stalls. There was allot of screaming; allot of loud voices that anyone would agree put a depression on the whole bar. It was common for fights to accumulate regularly in places like these—with men and woman having their loves(or so they _thought_) being seduced in the most cruel ways right in front of them and all—but no one could deny that it put a damper on the party.

One looked part Indian. I knew we lived close to the Quillette reservation, so assumed he has something to do in that area. His skin was a light, caramel brown which fazed nicely with dark brown eyes. He actually retained some kind of glow...it was weird. His hair was braided in some places, but overall pulled back in a messy bun. He didn't look so much like a girl despite that notion—maybe because I could almost _feel _the anger radiating off him. I blinked once; his body was covered in smooth, well-rounded muscles.

_Haaaaaaaaawt_.

It was three against one—the three looked like regular tools. Muscles, mostly clear of pimples, cropped hair in spikes. One, with blaring red hair, jabbed a finger into the Indian-man. "Who the fuck you think you are?"

The Indian-man growled aggressively, stepping closer to the man and shoving him in the chest. It wasn't a week shove either—the man flew back, but steadied himself on his feet. The Indian-man didn't come off looking like a faggot when he did the shove too—made my heart throb.

"Fuck off you fucking loser! Don't make me angry!"

Emmett suddenly stepped in. "Hey, dude, come on," he said, directing his words towards the Indian-man. "You really going to let this fuckwad mess with your head like that? Ruin your day? We came down here to fuck around and drink, not get into fights."

I scoffed. Those were some shocking words coming from Emmett—he was the first to jump into a fight when the opportunity provided itself. Maybe he just really wanted to get in bed with that blonde girl—I had to admit, taking away that repulsive attitude, she was a sexy bitch.

The Indian-man calmed down enough to nod. I felt my heart drop a bit in my chest—I wanted him to be a good rebellious boy and fight. He seemed like he would be a good fighter. Damn, why did Emmett have to ruin my day?

He started walking away, but suddenly, one of the men held out their foot and it caught on his ankle—the reaction was obvious. The Indian-man sunk to the floor, but whirled around and jabbed his foot strait into the guy's balls. The man cried, falling to the floor.

Emmett took notice that a fight was inevitable, and turned and punched a tool square in the face with a force I knew must of hurt; there was a crunch to prove it. Blood swam out of the tool's nose like a dam that had burst open and was letting all its precious water out.

He roared in anger, and started to throw useless punches at Emmett. Emmett dodged and jerked him into a head-lock. "Gunna do anything now, smartass?," he laughed. The man's face was turning blue. A disgusting gargle noise was forming as he tried to breath.

Finally, Emmett let him go.

"Mother fucker!," the tool said before he ran out, breathing like a dog in labor.

Then, everything went onto a whole different level. The guy who had tripped the Indian-man had recovered from his painful blow and was coming at the Indian-man head-on with a pipe he had somehow gotten.

Since so many people were inside the bar today, there was no hope of any guards strolling in here to see what was all the ruckus was about.

The Indian was turned to the man with the deadly weapon—he was beating the shit out of the pissoff who had, to my assumptions, started the whole fight. That's when I had to break in. I wouldn't let this supremely sexy teen get wounded from a snake attack as weak as this.

I walked in front of the man suddenly and grabbed the pipe in a firm grip, before I jutted my knee into his stomach. It was so quick that he hadn't seen any of it coming. He fell to the floor, and the pipe was mine for the taking. I slammed the sharpest edge into his ribs. It was hard, but I knew it didn't break anything. I slammed my foot into his balls, and he screamed wildly. "Next time think before you do something retarded, asswhipe," I said in an annoyed tone.

I walked away and placed the pipe under the sink. Emmett clapped a hand on my shoulder, grinning. He looked over at the Indian-man, and I turned to watch the show also.

The Indian-man was straddling the tool's chest. His hair-tie was long gone—probably torn out in the fight—and he was holding the man's face in a death-grip. I could _literally _see blood sliding down his cheeks from the Indian-man's shortly trimmed, clear nails.

He had a grim, evil smirk on his face.

"Gunna apologize, fucker?" He shook the man's head violently. "YOU BETTER FUCKING APOLOGIZE!"

It was getting to the point where I thought the Indian-man had gone insane. He had an odd, malicious glint in his eye. The guy he was holding looked stoned and drunk to full capacity—I thought he might pass out soon.

"I'm sorry...," he croaked.

The Indian-man threw his head into the tile floor. My mouth opened in surprise.

"What are you sorry for?!"

"Yelling...at...you...?" It was a question—I could hear the confusion. This man had no idea what to say to the now-crazed teen.

The Indian-man chuckled and reached behind him, pulling out a pair of scissors. Instead of stabbing him with it(like I thought he was and damn did it make me feel special), he grabbed the man in the back of the head and started clipping off all his jelled, spiky hair.

"Don't. You. _Ever_," He said through clips, "**MESS WITH MY FUCKING HAIR!" **

The whole thing came to an end when those last words were spoken, and the Indian-man let go of the tool, standing up and wiping his shirt off. The victim, per say, ran off like the devil was at his heals.

"Damn," I heard the Indian-man mutter angrily, looking at himself in the mirror. "I look fuckin' horrible." With that, he turned on the sink and started to splash water on his face, cleaning off blood, dirt, and grime. He had a few minor scratches, and a bit of blood still leaked from his forehead, but other then that and a few heavy bruises I could tell he would come upon, I knew he would be fine.

As everyone started to move through the urinal cycles again, the Indian-man just stood on the farthest sink, staring at himself in the mirror. He was pouting now—his eyes cried sadness. I noticed why—one of hit beautiful locks had been cleanly chopped in half. "Bastard...," I heard him whisper.

I walked over to him. "Hey, you okay man?"

"Yeah I'm fine," he said, turning back with a wide grin. My stomach tingled. _Spirit_, I noted. _Lot's of spirit_. The Indian-man suddenly turned shy, blushing pink. "Sorry you had to go through that...the guy wanted me to give him head...as you can see the outcome wasn't that appealing..."

"Naw," Emmett said. "It's okay. I would've killed the guy if he ordered me to do that."

"I'm guessing you don't like queers then?"

Emmett chuckled, wrapping his arm around me. "My lil' bro is one. Well, technically, he's bi, but yeah..."

The Indian man looked me over. He avoided my eyes. "I have to go," he quickly said, disappearing in the crowd.

"Well that was interesting...," I muttered. I was kind of disappointed that he left so quickly—I wanted to talk to him. Get to know him...get to slam him up against a wall and start fucking my dick inside his tight little ass and hear him scream like a crazed bitch...

"It seems I'm off to go get my Rose," Emmett sad happily. "And you can go get your black sheep—Bella, right? Mmm, maybe we can go get some Italian food after—think she can cook some?"

I rolled my eyes, stepping by a urinal and releasing my piss. Emmett did the same beside me. "What makes you think that just because her name is Bella that she's Italian? She doesn't look Italian at all."

"Whatever. She's a virgin. How many virgin's have you fucked so far?"

"Nothing to match the great king bear, Emmett!," I spouted sarcastically. I was definitely a much more descent soul when it came down to sex. "I don't fuck every woman who comes at me."

"I don't do that!"

"Sure." I put my limp dick back and went over to wash my hands. I was drying my hand — with Emmett soaping his—when I caught a murmur of gossip. _'Yeah, just came up behind him and smashed him in the head! The ambulance should be here in a few minutes...' _

I jolted at those words, running out the bathroom. The crowd had sculpted a human circle around a certain object—I rammed my way in between everyone, before I got to the front.

The Indian-man was laying on the floor, covered in blood. His hair was dripping crimson, and it started to pool around him. Officers were picking him up and putting him on top of a stretcher.

My heart clenched.

Damn.

(**Authors Note**: Ah, well. Depressing I know. My first new story of the year! Oh, and I think this is complete.)


End file.
